


The feast & the wine

by julie-yard (teh_jules)



Category: Southland
Genre: Bedsharing, Cuddling, F/M, In Vino Veritas, Missing Scene, Talking, could be seen as Canon Compliant, drinking wine, set after 'Maximum Deployment'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teh_jules/pseuds/julie-yard
Summary: Set after 'Maximum Deployment':Right after Russ confession that he is not coming back, Lydia and Russ spent an evening on the couch. Drinking wine, watching tv and talking.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Was formerly uploaded as 'Cuddy Buddy' but I didn't like the title and also did some more editing. 
> 
> Title is stolen from the poem 'The Wine of Love' by James Thomson

Lydia gets the wine and they share the bottle between the two of them.  
  
Russell is drunk after the first glass. It's the pain meds mixed with the alcohol, he says. He knows he will never live that one down. He is pleasantly buzzed. Grinning, he leans back in the cushions and looks over at a very sceptic looking Lydia.    
  
"Lightweight." she scoffs, but her smile isn't mean, it's soft and almost adoring.  
  
They sit on the couch and watch a movie. Talk over the dialogue. Just random stuff, nothing too serious. Not like his confession that he can't be a cop anymore. Not like his heartfelt 'You know I love you right?'. She's still reeling from that one. They never said that before.  
  
Lydia swallows around the lump in her throat and doesn't acknowledge the stinging in her eyes. She stares unseeing at the tv.  
  
"Well, look on the bright side: You don't have to share with me." His words sound slurred even to his own ears, which is a bad sign.  
  
Every time she looks at him, he's sitting a bit nearer. He is so slumped that Lydia worries that he is going to hurt in the morning. There arms are almost touching. She is glad that Russ is wearing a long-sleeved shirt. Even though she still shivers at that thought and can feel the hair on her arms rise.  
  
"You know I would share with you."  
  
"Hmm, ok." He closes his eyes. His face looks more relaxed than in a long time. He is more relaxed than in a long time. Lydia has that effect on him.  
  
For a while they just sit and watch. On the screen there is a couple discussing the state of their relationship. She looks over at Russ and observes him.  
  
He catches her gaze. Lydia feels caught.  
  
"You can still make up with Dina. It's not too late." she says out of impulse.  
  
She looks into her glass, ignores the glare. The wine is a dry, fruity affair that makes her want to drink more than she should.  
When she tips her head back and exposes her throat Russ can't help noticing the beauty of it. Of her.  
  
In the fluorescent light the red undertone of her skin seem to glow. She's looking all soft, despite the muscles on her body. He know exactly how strong she is.  
  
She is also beautiful, he notes.  
  
He notes this as a writer, his muddled brain complies. A very drunk writer.  
  
Yeah, sure. Whatever.  
  
"No, we're just not working as a couple. We've both knows that for some time now. We were... Sexually compatible. Which was nice, you know. At least she wasn't complaining in that regard."  
  
Lydia lifts an eyebrow and purses her lips as if to say quit it.  
  
He shrugs and says, all nonchalance: "I happen to be a man who likes sex."  
  
More eye rolling. And Lydia bets that he thinks he is good at it too. Men always think that.     
  
"Don't elaborate. I don't want to know."  
  
"I wasn't--" he pinches the bridge of his nose and winces. "It's a lack of friendship that makes bad marriages."  
  
He looks up and studies her, as if this should mean something more to her than it does.  
  
"That is really deep." She mocks him. "Insights from a writers mind?"  
  
"No, read that on inspirationalquotes.com."     
  
She looks down at his dark head that is dangerously close to her arm. Again, they concentrate on the movie. More or less. Lydia is mulling things over, trying to make sense of her conflicting emotions. Russ is trying not to fall asleep.  
  
When he gives a snore she says: "You need to go to bed, Russ."  
  
He shakes his head, rubs his face. He feels so light, so heavy all at once. He wants to lay down and sleep for weeks. Ever since he is back home, he can't properly rest. Too much to do, too much to think of. But the booze and the meds just switched his brain off. Goodbye coherent thought, hello subconscious that wants to cuddle with his partner.  
Lydia is still holding the now empty wine glass in her hand. She leans forward and refills it.  
  
The tension from earlier slowly creep back in. Or maybe it's just Russ imagination.  
  
"It's strange." He tilts his head upward. His voice is clear. "That I am more afraid of our separation then my divorce."  
  
Oh, she thinks and swallows. There is a knot in the pit of her stomach. She has no name for this feeling. It makes her uneasy.  
Since when is red wine making her so damned emotional?  
  
But she get's what Russ is trying to tell her. Only a partner would get it.  
  
She presses her lips together and tries for a smile. He shakes his head, as if to tell her not to be ridiculous.  
  
"Are we still going to be friends?"  
  
She has to clear her throat before answering. "Yes of course, you big lug."  
  
"Ok." Then, with the way of drunken people and children he just switches the subject. "I need to lay down now. Because of the pain."  
  
Before she can say something Russ is all up in her space. His head is cushioned on her lap and her stomach. He stretches out and fills up most of the couch. She puts her hands on his shoulder and almost pushes him off of her, before she remembers his injury. This is always her first impulse: To push people away.  
  
Her hand curls around his shoulder.  
  
Amazing what she takes up with when it comes to Russ.  
  
"For a woman who runs track all the time you are really comfortable." There is a deep content sigh. Lydia doesn't know if she's supposed to take that as a compliment.  
  
She should. In his mind it's meant as a compliment.  
  
"For a man who's workout consists out of eating Tacos, you are very..." For a second she stops the slow circles on his shoulder. The fabric is riding up and bears his upper arm. "Firm."  
  
He makes a noise against her. Lydia feels the warmth of his breath through her blouse.  
  
"Lost ten pounds. Those aren't muscles you're feeling, those are my bones."  
  
She laughs good-naturedly. It amuses him to no end how her stomach quivers when she's laughing.  
  
"Usually I am way better at cuddling."  
  
"Russ, you're so dorky."  
  
"Well, yeah." They shift around for a moment. "You love it."  
  
She rolls her eyes.  
  
"You wish."  
  
They are silent again. Act as if they are watching the movie. They are not.  
  
Lydia can admit to herself that this is nice. The nearness is unusual for them, but ok under those circumstances. He is drunk. And drunk people do weird things. They will go back to how they always are even though they won't be partners come next week.  
  
It feels wrong and makes her nervous. She doesn't let go of him, which may be a mistake. But it's not just Russ who does weird things sometimes.  
  
She threads her fingers through his dark hair. He rubs his face against her stomach. When she starts rubbing circles on his neck he starts humming. When she accidently scratches over his skin he hisses. The sound goes straight to her core. Her hands halt.  
  
Interesting, she thinks.    
  
He mumbles something. Lydia is still not moving her hands, even though she wants to rake them slowly underneath the hem of his shirt. She wonders what would happen, if--  
  
"No nails, Lyd.", he warns her. He is somewhat breathless. His eyes aren't blue anymore. Just dark circles that suddenly remind her that he indeed is a man.     
  
"Scratching excites you?" She tries a chuckle, tries to make it sound like a joke. Because this is Russell, her partner. "Never thought I would learn about Russell Clarke's dark side."  
  
He snorts.  
  
"Leave the neck alone and we'll be ok." He sounds serious. "I am not really in my best form right now."  
  
"Are you bragging?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"You and your big ego." She rolls her eyes.  
  
"I would say it's proportionate to the rest of me."    
   
"You are so wasted, Russ. And delusional, because I never--"  
  
"Yeah, you would never have my white ass. I know." He says it as if it's a known fact. They both wonder if there is a tinge of bitterness in his voice.  
  
Then: "If you weren't Lydia Adams I would say the lady does protest too much."  
  
"I think you need to go to bed."  
  
"You're coming with me?"  
  
"You are so going to regret this..."  
  
"You can't drive anyway." Russ gives a shrug and smiles his trademark smirk.  
  
"Come on." He limps into the direction of the guest bedroom. Over his shoulder he calls: "I'll keep you warm. No funny business either."  
  
It takes her a moment to decide. She tosses her drink back and then wanders down the dark hall. He's already laying in bed, one naked arm stretched out. His shirt, his pants lay discarded over the foot of the bed. He watches her strip down to her underwear. His gaze is appreciating.  
  
She should take her makeup off, she really should. But it's so late and she is tired. Lydia wants to sleep. So she slides underneath the covers. He is right there. She is somehow caught off guard how pale he is. Here in the half-darkness it's even more noticeable.  
  
They lay beside each other. Their breathing is very audible. She never knew how calm his neighborhood is. They lay still and listen.  
  
At first it's awkward, before she thinks what the hell and crawls into the circle of his arm. So near and warm, smelling of the remnants of expensive cologne. Is this too much?, his drunken brain asks aimlessly. Friends are allowed to cuddle, right? Why wouldn't they? They just fit.  
  
So they cuddle. It feels natural and that surprises Lydia. In the darkness she slides her hand over his chest. She stops as she finds the long scar where they opened up his chest. It feels puckered but soft. Vitamin E oil will help the skin heal, she thinks. She is going to tell him tomorrow. Tomorrow...  
  
Yeah, there are still tomorrows.    
  
I almost lost you, she thinks and presses her face into his skin.  
  
"But you didn't." he says softly and she realizes that she verbalized her thoughts. "And you won't. I love you, Lyd. I really do."  
  
The words are out, soft and soothing. It's a balm she didn't knew she needed.  
  
"I want to keep you." She aims for light, but ends up sounding corny. "You are my favorite dork, you know."  
  
Russ' heart is thumping loudly, she has to hear it. He concentrates on her hand on his chest. Touching the ridges of the scar. The skin feels tender and it almost hurts. But it's also good. Russ trusts her to be careful with him.  
  
He presses a kiss to the top of her head. She angles her face and pecks him on the cheek. The next kiss happens to end up on closed lips. They don't linger, both of them suspecting that they are about to breach a finely set line.  
  
No one says anything. They turn to their sides. He slides their bodies close together. Navigates a bit because of his scar, but finally settles down comfortably. One arm sneaks around her and comes to rest in front of her. His nose is pressed to the nape of her neck, breathing her scent in. There is a sweet fragrance. Something sweet like peaches? Could be some sort of hair product. Underneath it lays a slightly burned smell probably from her flat ironing her hair in the morning. But it's Lyd; to him she smells good.  
His breath evens out after a while.  
  
Lydia can't fall asleep, she revels in the feelings cursing through her. Is this how it would be between them? So comfortable? So natural? She thinks so. It's a dangerous thought.  
  
What about tomorrow though? Are they going back to acting like partners, trading barbs and making jokes? Of course, that part that loves to be in control all the time complies. Back to always looking out for each other, making sure that the other is ok. She doesn't want to loose their friendship. It's one of the best things .  
  
Not a lack of love, but of friendship... Sleep claims her and gives her confusing dreams.  
  
In the morning Lydia slides out from under his arm and stumbles to the bathroom. When she checks her watch she is relieved that it's her day off because it's almost nine o'clock.  
  
When she comes back to the bedroom, Russ is sitting in bed. He looks confused. The sheet slipped down to his waist. In the light of day the scar looks like an angry exclamation mark. She allows herself to really look this time.  
  
His hangover makes his head pound, his mouth feels like there had been a party. One of the dirty ones. When he looks around he sees half-naked Lydia standing in the doorway watching him.  
  
She looks sexy. Absolutely stunning. He should look away, but... But why is she here? He can't concentrate, his blood is needed elsewhere.     
  
His mouth gets even drier, his heart starts hammering in his chest. His headache is forgotten.  
He can feel the blush. One look over to the mirror would show him that the redness spreads down from his cheeks over his throat and his sternum.  
  
What the heck happened last night?  
  
"Did we--?" he looks befuddled but there is a note of hope in his voice. God help him, he thinks, he begs her not to notice or at least not to mention it.  
  
She pulls a face. Is that disappointment or disgust? He can't be sure. Lydia has her masks in place before he can be sure.  
  
"No, of course not."  
  
"Of course."  
  
Lydia saunters over and he looks away so he doesn't do something funny. Like grab her and pull her close for a kiss. Take a bite out of her butt. Touch the angry scowl she turned her face into. Something like that.  
  
She slips into yesterdays clothes.  
  
"You were keeping me warm, partner."  
  
"Did I?"  
  
"Yeah, you're like a furnace."  
  
He gives a humorless laugh. She ignores him. Slides her pants over her butt. He shouldn't stare.  
  
"So, we'll see each other on the precinct?" His casualness sounds like he doesn't care.    
  
"Sure. I guess I'll be around."  
  
Lydia nods.  
  
"Now you and Suarez can ride off into the sunset together." Is this jealousy? He cringes.  
  
Lydia rolls her eyes and looks herself over in the mirror. She sees exactly how wrinkled her clothes are. Even if they didn't fuck, everyone who looks at her will assume it anyway. It doesn't sit well with her. He's her partner. She doesn't fuck her partners.  
  
Yesterday she drank too much red wine and cuddled with him. So what?  
  
"Lyd," he asks, before she can leave. ",are we good?"  
  
She is still scowling and he can't help thinking he somehow put her off.  
  
It's strange that she wants to climb back to bed with him. Of course she doesn't. He's not her type. She's not his type.  
  
Yesterday just happened because in a few days they won't be partners anymore. And then? What are they then? Friends? Is this enough? She doesn't know.  
  
But she is completely sure that all this confusion just comes from their upcoming separation. That's all.  
  
"We're good, Russ."  
  
He's not buying it.  
 


End file.
